


Liminal Spaces

by judgehangman



Category: Makai Ouji: Devils and Realist
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 22:16:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9205478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judgehangman/pseuds/judgehangman
Summary: Whatever he feels for Dantalion exists in a liminal space, somewhere between friendship and love.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hotkadamn](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=hotkadamn).



> For Dani, because I never quite got around to writing that fluffy fic I promised her.
> 
> (This is set in the musical verse, but I guess it works with the anime and manga verses as well)

Before him, William never thought about doing ridiculous things like sneaking out mid-afternoon to have a picnic by the lake. Because sneaking out mid-afternoon to have a picnic by the lake just wasn’t the sort of thing William Twining did.

He told Dantalion just that. That he wasn’t that kind of person, that he didn’t partake in ludicrous adventures that threatened his position as a prefect. But Dantalion demanded his company, in the way Dantalion always does, and waved a basket on his face as if he couldn’t care less about what the responsibilities of a prefect entailed.

So, of course, William followed.

It isn’t mid-afternoon anymore. William is aware of that as he watches the wind make ripples on the lake. They will have to return soon. Not that he forgot — he feels he can never forget how short the time he spends with Dantalion is, as if there’s a constantly ticking clock hanging above their heads, counting down to zero.

They are silent. It’s not an awkward silence, but it’s not a comfortable silence either. It just _is_ , like many things between them just _are,_ like it just exists without reason or deeper meaning. There has been a lot of silence between them lately, not because they lack things to say, but because there are too many things to know where to even begin.

His eyes rise to the setting sun, slowly hiding behind the horizon like sand piles up in the bottom of the hourglass. For a moment, he wishes it would stop, just so he could have more time. Just so he could stay here and not have to care about demons or the election.

He turns to Dantalion. The look on his face is one William has grown accustomed to; a look that is both bitter and sweet, but somehow not bittersweet. There are too many emotions in his turbulent expression. Emotions which William can’t understand and has no words to properly describe. He tries to name them anyway.

There’s a slight tension in his jaw, as if he’s clenching his teeth, and William names that “grief”. The rise and fall of his chest, breaths too controlled not to be deliberate, William decides it’s anger. Their eyes meet and Dantalion’s expression softens, a warm glint in his gaze as he huffs out a laugh and stares. William cannot bring himself to name that one. He doesn’t want to.

He opens his mouth as if to say something, to tell Dantalion to stop staring, or make an annoyed retort. But all he does is breathe out, unable to look away. Dantalion has that effect on him sometimes: he has a way of capturing William’s attention and holding it for countless minutes, keeping William’s eyes locked to his until William’s whole world turns red. It makes William feel weak, as if his knees will wobble and he’ll lose balance. He doesn’t have to wonder whether Dantalion would catch him if he did.

Dantalion blinks and William looks away, ears burning, back towards the horizon. He finds himself stuck in that moment, in the liminality of the sun as it sets, but he no longer wishes to keep it immobile. He knows lots of things have been like that sun lately. His studies, his age, _himself._ Transient things in a world that never stops moving. He doesn’t know why he ever wished it would. If it stopped, things would never go anywhere.

He looks back. Dantalion stares at him once again. But the magic is gone from his eyes: the feeling that made William’s heart race for a moment isn’t there anymore. It’s funny, he thinks, how sometimes the world shifts just slightly and Dantalion sends him spinning in so many directions, but then, other times, William feels no different, as if that feeling, too, is fleeting.

He supposes it is, then. Whatever he feels for Dantalion exists in a liminal space too, somewhere between friendship and love. William always tries to make the edges clearer through the uncertainty in his words and the hesitation of his fingers; but those only seem to make it even harder to tell the feelings apart.

There’s a distance in Dantalion’s eyes that makes William’s heart sink in his chest. He looks like that, sometimes, as if he’s lost in illusions and phantoms from a lifetime ago.  He walks to where Dantalion sits and pokes his forehead forcefully.

“Stop looking at me as if I’m not here.”

Dantalion winces. The words are harsh, but William doesn’t feel sorry about what he said. It’s not the fault of either of them Dantalion feels the way he does, but William isn’t going to accept being someone’s ghost. Dantalion nods, a slight frown between his eyebrows, and William watches carefully as he closes his eyes and lets the sorrow build to an agonizing peak before he relaxes and his eyes open.

He doesn’t apologize, because he never does, yet his look is apologetic nonetheless. William reaches for his hand, allows him to be the one who intertwines their fingers. It’s a gesture to placate both of their hearts, to pull Dantalion from the edge of the threshold and put them back where it’s safer, miles away from the horizon, but also to move William forward, just a little, to meet him halfway.

“William…”

“We should go back,” he announces, as if it weren’t just the two of them. It’s the tone of Dantalion’s voice that makes him interrupt, a certainty that William isn’t ready for. “I think I drank too much. I feel dizzy.”

He feels Dantalion’s eyes on him and his cheeks burn in response. Those moments are getting more common, the ones when Dantalion means to say something and William interrupts him, scared of the implications hidden in his tone. He pulls Dantalion up, intertwines their fingers like he’s used to that. Dantalion stays quiet.

“Come on.”

He doesn’t have to say it twice. Dantalion smiles, steps closer, towers over him for a second as if he’s going to—

But then he steps back, and laughs at William’s flushed cheeks. It would’ve been easy for him to just pull Dantalion back towards himself, to step closer and be the one to break the quiet, to say the words the both of them dread and yet are eager to hear. But he doesn’t do that. Not now, at least.

Anytime soon, he knows, that threshold will be crossed and they will leave the liminality, like dusk turns to night. But not tonight, not yet. He would like to keep that feeling his own for a little longer.


End file.
